Reconnaître

Seeing one another again was like watching
sound travel the air: the changing shape of lips,
an intention set into space, and
in a separate time, a sound
reaching the ears, soft and lucid,
yet too honest to extend
the offer of security, the assurance, that
what had been heard had perfectly mirrored
that which was
spoken.

Each moment that passed was a step
taken toward the other, a distance breached, a voice
become more clear, until
all that existed for either was the sound
come home, that rested between
them, that was
them, expression and understanding,
intimate, touching,
was.

Like this:

Related

Is it
(A) (B),
(A) ,
or
?
Where we are (A) and (B) is the other person and the arrows are how we interact. Does (B) really exist, or do we only experience our interaction with them? More radically, do we even exist?

Mostly, though, I love the feeling of the poem, which is romantic in every sense of the word.